Friday
by AdequateLexicon
Summary: Gilbert always goes to the football games. After mocking the opposing team, poking fun at his brother, and falling in love with his two favorite band geeks, his Fridays are always spoken for. But which of his BFFs will he spend his Saturday with?


**Amazingly Arbitrary AN: Oh my gosh, I've established a fanon continuity! Yay me!**

**So, bascially, this takes place in the same universe, same year even, that my other story United Again is in. If you haven't read that story, you don't have to worry. I think there are a few references to specific events here and there, but none that are so obscure you would have to read the actual story in order to get them. Most of them are things about how they get along, but for the most part I based that off of actual canon so you should be okay.**

**It's plotless! It's pointless! What can I say? I wrote it anyway. **

**WTF I gave it a plot? How did that happen?**

**The pairings are USxUK, GerIta, and RoChu. The main pairing is Prussia and...I don't know. Haven't actually decided that yet. It'll be Austria or Hungary. We'll see. **

**Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoy! This story was really fun for me to write.**

Gilbert was seriously starting to get pissed off.

It was bad enough that he had to waste his Friday night at a football game. (Granted, Gilbert couldn't remember a time when he hadn't wasted his Friday nights on going to the tedious high school football games, but that didn't change the fact that having to do it totally sucked.) What was even worse was that his car had decided to be a prick, and he had been forced to hitch a ride with Francis. Riding in Francis's white Corvette wasn't horrible, and he considered himself Francis's friend, but having to ride in the passenger's seat also totally sucked. And now there was this; 'this' coming in the form of a grumpy woman whose job it had been to manage the ticket booth.

Gilbert felt sorry for her. She had a sharp face and immediately struck him as the kind of lady who took herself and her menial responsibilities far too seriously. Sure enough, he was right; this sad woman who had been given what was likely the worst job the PTA could muster up acted as if she was the bouncer to an exclusive club.

"Sir," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I can't let you inside unless you get that, that _creature _out of your hair. It's unseemly. It's against the school dress code. I won't allow it," she said, her voice fluctating in pitch as her face got redder and redder with rage. Gilbert had been trying to negogiate with this woman for what felt like at least ten minutes.

"This is my pet bird. I have had it since 8th grade. I have been going to GJH's football games since the ninth grade, and I have had him with me for every single one. And do you want to know something? This is the first time I've been told I couldn't bring him in. Maybe, I'd understand if this was inside or something, but guess what, lady? Football games are outdoors! There are birds everywhere!" To be honest, Gilbert was getting tired of arguing with her. As much as he loved arguing on a typical day, he really wanted to get there before the game started, if only because he wanted to make sure he actually got a seat. He knew from experience that if you didn't hurry, it was incredibly likely that you would have to sit in the asiles or stand or other things that were embarrassing and painful to the ego.

Thankfully, after a few more minutes of arguing, the woman had relented, throwing her hands up in the air and cursing a little bit. He thought he saw tears in her eyes, but he doubted the validity of this. If anyone should have been crying, it should have been him. But manly tears, of course. Tears of anger. Tears of boredom. Tears of _why the hell do I have to go to these stupid football games every damn year? _

It wasn't even a question worth asking. Ever since freshman year, his brother had been on the football team, for starters. Sure, he had started off as the lowest of the low (water boy, he remembered with a snicker) but now he was the freakin' quarterback. Looking back, Gilbert knew he should have taken the time, during those first few games in which his brother was nobody, to not go to them. But no. Now, if he didn't go to support his baby brother Ludwig, he would look like the biggest jerk in the universe. (And, okay, seeing him kick ass could be pretty damn awesome at times.)

But then again, it wasn't like it would matter if Ludwig had decided to join the debate team or school newspaper, because there was always the matter of Rod and Liz. Yes, it was always Rod and Liz, wasn't it?

During his freshman and sophomore years, Gilbert's best friends had been Antonio and Francis. They had been one of those little circles where you couldn't look at one of them without your mind filling in the blanks of the other two. (In fact, Gilbert still considered both of them to be his friends, even though he sometimes felt like they didn't think he existed.) However, his junior year Gilbert had befriended Liz and Rod, who had been an item at that point in time, and this friendship was what had effictively sealed his fate when it came to going to the school football games.

Gilbert couldn't really complain about seeing them, though. Well, he could, and often did, but that didn't make it true. The simple fact was, Gilbert loved watching his two best friends out on the field during half-time.

Everyone knew that Rod was an efficent pianist, but the way he played in the school band was downright amazing. Sure, it would be _weird _if Gilbert sat and watched Rod the whole time, but he knew that if given the option he could do so for hours. The marching band was skilled, perhaps more so than the actual football team, but despite the fact that most of the students who were in it had been taking band as an elective since sixth grade or so, it was an unspoken truth that Rod had what seemed to be an internal skill for the piano. Watching him play was, in its own weird little way, somewhat beautiful; though of course, when asked, Gilbert described as either 'boring' or 'stupid', depending on his mood.

And then there was Liz. Liz was not technically in the band, but then again, technically she was. Because GHS had a shocking male-to-female ratio of about 36:9 (and because of the distinct lack of general interest for a school dance team) the school's color guard was widely popular, and the girls in it usually got more attention than the few who were cheerleaders. Out of the Guard Girls, however, it was generally accepted by most that Gilbert's very own Elizabeta Héderváry was the best. While the other girls were prone to occasional mistakes, whether it was a twitch of the hand or a lapse in the facial expression, Liz never failed to twirl her flag skillfully and beautifully, with the required smile on her face shining all the way from the field. (When asked about watching her, the adjectives he used varied between 'lame' and 'idiotic', also depending on his mood.)

And so, as Gilbert walked into the stadium, he couldn't help but feel a little bit of pride. He hated to admit it, but he was almost feeling something that closely mimicked school spirit.

It was downright creepy.

Thankfully, he managed to find a seat in the front row, and although the game had already started, it had only been about ten minutes or so. He looked at the scoreboard.

**Visitors: 0**

**Home: 16**

_'What now!' _he thought to himself. In truth, he didn't even know who the other team playing was. He squinted across the field until his eyes landed on an inflatable goldfish. _'Really? A goldfish? What kind of school has a goldfish as a mascot? That's retarded,' _he thought to himself. He then looked over at the other side of the field where an inflatable globe sat. Okay, so maybe a school that boasted the _globes _as their mascot probably had no room to talk. Seriously, they were the globes? Whose idea was that?

That had always kind of upset him.

Just as he had been about to try and locate his brother, he felt a tap on his shoulder. Gilbert swiveled his head around to see who it was. Oh, it was Arthur and Alfred. Even though one of them had actually gotten his attention, not both, Gilbert had the tendency to forget that they were two seperate people, since their movements were creepily in sync and they were known to finish each others' sentences. (He made a mental note to himself to come up with a celebrity-style combination of their names that he could call them. Al-thur? Arth-fred? It was something he would have to give more thought at a later time.)

"Hey, guys!" he said. See, the annoying thing about them both was that they refused to be disliked by anyone. Some people claimed to hate Arthur and Alfred, but in all likliehood they were just saying it to be edgy. The irritating fact was, you just couldn't hate either of them. For all of the times that Arthur was a smug, pompous dicknose, he was a good enough friend that you could tell him your secrets, even the really embarrassing ones that involved your feelings and other such wimpy shit. And for all of the times that Alfred was a loud, obnoxious asshole, he...well, actually, he was pretty much always a loud, obnoxious asshole. That was what made it even weirder that nobody seemed to hate him.

"Hello," said Arthur, sitting down next to him. "What's the score?" Gilbert was right about to direct his attention to the gigantic scoreboard that announced the current score in numbers that were almost as large and obnoxious as Alfred (but not quite) when he was interrupted.

"It's sixteen-to-nothing. We're winning," said Alfred to Arthur, in a tone far more patient than the one Gilbert himself would have used. Then again, though, it probably had something to do with the fact that Alfred wanted to get into Arthur's pants, and Gilbert did not. _'Watch, one of these days, they're going to hook up and they'll be the only ones surprised,' _he thought to himself.

"Yeah, it's because I'm here. Like, if I had stayed home, we would be losing. I'm this school's good luck charm!" He grinned happily as he heard Gilbird tweet in what was probably agreement. God, he loved that bird. (He was trying to teach it how to cockblock; Gilbert eagerly looked forward to the day where his brother would be trying oh-so-awkwardly to get some with his little cheerleader boyfriend, only to have the mood killed by endless, eardrum-piercing tweets. That would teach them not to make out on the couch that he played video games on. And he had loved that couch. In fact, he had been _this close _to christening it Gilcouch before he had walked in on them _totally ruining _it. Anyway, revenge was in order.)

In perfect unison, Arthur and Alfred rolled their eyes. "Whatever you say, Gilbert," said Arthur, somehow sounding more British than ever. It was like the Britishness stood out more when he was being condescending. He could be worse than Rod, which was saying something because Rod had condescension down to an art form.

"It's okay, Artie, let him _think _he's awesome," said Alfred, patting Arthur's thigh as he emphasized his point. _'Very subtle,' _thought Gilbert. _'Almost as subtle as the blush on Arthur's face.' _It was almost hilarious how everyone knew they were a couple besides them. And it was clear that they didn't know it, either. The sexual tension between them was excruicatingly awkward to watch.

"Hey, can you guys go make out under the bleachers or something? I actually want to watch the game here," said Gilbert. Okay, so he was being a little harsh. That was what they deserved for doubting, and openly mocking, the fact that he was awesome. Still, after each of them doing the customary mumbling about how that would totally never happen since they were only friends, neither of them budged, and Gilbert doubted that his words had had any effect on them.

Soon, Gilbert noticed the band coming on to the field, and with an inexplicable feeling of joy he got up out of his seat and stood against the little wall that seperated him from the field. He managed to locate both Liz and Rod, and he waved manically at both of them. Because Rod was under no obligation to smile, he rolled his eyes and pursed his lips at Gilbert, who only winked in response while holding his two hands like they were pistols. Liz, on the other hand, had no choice but to smile back at him. Guard Girls didn't have the luxury of letting their faces express how they felt. Gilbert knew that, more than anything, Liz probably wanted desperately to flip him off. But she couldn't do that, and Gilbert laughed as her stage-makeup lipstick accentuated her forced grin.

_'God, they both look so perfect out there,' _he thought, before he could stop himself. Whaaaat? No. No, weird best-friend type crushes were reserved for people like his brother, or Arthur and Alfred. As much as he _joked _about how awesome he was, Gilbert seriously believed that he was far too awesome for something like that. The worst part was, Gilbert had suspected that he would get a crush on one of them sooner or later, but _both _of them? Now that was the epitome of irony. Or maybe it was the epitome of something else, something much worse. Gilbert didn't know, nor did he particuarly care.

"Today, the band will be performing their UIL award-winning piece _The Weather,_" said the announcer. For some reason, his nonchalant tone pissed him off. Like, okay, maybe he wasn't interested at all in his crappy dead-end job, but did he have to make it so obvious? Gilbert focused his attention on Liz, watching as she set her flag on the ground. Actually, Gilbert had seen her performance enough times to know that it would require the use of multiple flags, all of which representing the various weather one could see. The premise was so laughably dull, and yet they managed to make it work. How they managed to make it work, he had no idea.

And so, Gilbert watched, from the minute Liz picked up her sunshine-colored flag until the minute she dropped her blindingly white one. Every time, he would watch her perform, and every time it seemed different, as if it had changed even a little bit. She looked magical, damn her. Another strange thing, though, was this: when you listened to a band, you weren't supposed to hear one instrument above the others. Weren't they supposed to sound like they were united? Like they were one instrument? He didn't know, he had never been in band, but he had suspected that this was the end goal. But no, above all of the others he heard Rod's piano. Maybe it was because it was more awesome than all of the other instruments. Yes, that _had _to be it.

After they had performed, after the other school had done their inferior performance, after the audience clapped not nearly as hard as they should have, the football players returned to the field. In truth, Gilbert had honestly thought they were going to win, but to his dismay his team ended up losing, and brutally so. What really pissed him off was that the 'Fighting Goldfish,' or whatever they were called, hadn't even played that well in the beginning. What the hell had happened?

And it wasn't even that their loss had been close, because it hadn't. No, they had been brutally _slaughtered_, 36-16. Granted, they had certainly lost worse in the past, but they had been doing so well. Now his day (or, more accurately, night) was ruined.

As Gilbert prepared to find Francis so he could leave, he saw Ludwig near the wall that seperated the fans from the field; certainly within hearing distance. Gilbert knew that there would be no better oppurtunity to embarrass his baby brother, so he seized it.

"Yay! You did so well," Gilbert overheard someone squeal. If he didn't know better, he would have thought the voice belonged to a female, but he _did _know better and knew exactly who was talking. It was none other than the other half to his brother's ambigously gay duo. (Cue theme song.) His name would probably come to him in a second. It was something long and Italian. Feli-somethig. Well, since no one had spotted him watching his brother in a way too awesome to be creepy so far, Gilbert decided to listen to this conversation. If only because he had nothing better to do. (Gilbert knew from past experience that you could get into serious trouble for stalking the band.)

"We lost," Gilbert heard his brother say in a deadpan tone. Of course Ludwig would be all angsty over a loss. He always was. "And, anyway, when are you going to get a normal uniform? Haven't they been promising you something more, more _masculine_ since you joined the team?" Gilbert snickered to himself. It was true that due to some horrible mistake, Feliciano had to wear the same uniform every other cheerleader wore (short skirt, tight shirt, etc.) but he found it highly unlikely that his brother, of all people, would give an iota of a care about fashion aesthetics. It made him think that there had been something _distracting _the star QB from having a perfect performance. (Then again, that didn't excuse the rest of the team. Gilbert was still somewhat bitter over the loss.)

"You did well," insisted Feli-something. "Maybe no one else did, but you did a good job. And also, I don't actually know. I think they've forgotten that I'm a boy. I really do. They tell me to change in the girls' room. I would have thought I would change with the football players, but I tried to follow you guys once and almost got a write-up." He giggled. What kind of a guy laughed like that? No wonder they let him change with the girls, he was close enough to one. He had that kind of face, too. It wasn't handsome, it was _cute. _

"I don't really care, though. I've heard the girls say that they're fine with me in there, because they think I'm gay. And the girls' showers don't work, so no one uses them. I just shower when I get home, usually. It never seems to matter." Feli-something jumped from topic to topic. In truth, it was a little annoying to listen to. But Gilbert knew his brother well enough to know that he had probably zoned out of the conversation long ago (most likely to think about homework or something else boring) and only felt bad for Feli-something. He would probably continue to trill on and on without knowing he was being totally ignored.

Sure enough, he continued to hold his one sided conversation. "Anyway, what was I saying? Oh, yeah! What I was going to say was, wouldn't it be weird if we had to change together? Like, we'd have to see each other naked!"

Gilbert hardly noticed him giggle his girly little laugh yet again and barely registered him saying something about him having no shame about such things, because what he was focused on was much more important. It was one of his favorite words in the German language (or, you could also say it was one of his favorite English loanwords, if that was the way you chose to look at it) because when he got the chance to use it, it was almost never negative. Well. Not negative for _him. _

_Schadenfreude!_

The funny thing was, he partly had Liz to thank for this lovely bit of good fortune. It was all thanks to her being a super-perv, and he would have to thank her later. Had she not drawn disturbing pictures of half naked men with blood streaming out of their noses as they tounge-kissed on top of a red Camero, Gilbert would have probably witnessed the event that he did with nonchalance, at best. After all, the affliction his poor little brother found himself victim to certainly had plenty of causes, didn't it? Nose-picking was one, wasn't it? Or cocaine use? Or a host of other things?

But no, none of the causes listed on Wikipedia were what caused this drastic case of epistaxis. To be perfectly honest, when Gilbert had asked Liz about it (as in, "Why are those dudes making out on your binder hemorrhaging in the nerdiest way ever?") she had huffed and rolled her eyes, explaining some awful fangirl science that had to do with high blood pressure or something to that effect. The details escaped him, and anyway, why on earth would he care about what was more or less a Freud-was-right visual shorthand for being turned on?

_This. _This was why.

While Gilbert could see a few reasons why staying hidden would be beneficial, he was impatient, and so he swung himself over the wall until he was sitting on the ledge and his feet were dangling over the edge.

"Well, hi guys! Hey, great game. Gosh, am I interrupting something? Maybe some domestic abuse?" Ludwig raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him.

"What the hell are you talking about this time? And why on Earth were you just sitting there, not saying anything, being completely creepy?"

Ignoring his 'creepy' comment, Gilbert decided to continue. "C'mon, do noses just bleed on their own? I think not." He crossed his legs, swinging his right one back and forth. "Gosh, little bro, can you think of another reason why someone's nose might just start bleeding?"

Feliciano's face lit up. (Oh, right, _that _was his name. Duh. Somehow, 'Feli-something' was catchier.) "Well, one time when you were practicing in that band of yours," he began, but he immediately silenced. Gilbert knew without having seen it that he had been on the recieving end of one of Ludwig's oh-so-killer 'be quiet right now' looks. The funny thing was, this would have been incredibly satisfying to find out had Gilbert not already been perfectly aware. (It had been long ago since he had moved from Gilcouch to the less comfortable Gilchaise.)

Still, he feigned surprise. "What? What's this all about? Am I hearing what I think I'm hearing? You seriously don't mean to imply that you've been engaging in acts of debauchery while I've been off at 33 practices?" Ludwig coughed awkwardly.

"Of course not, Gilbert, why would you even say that?" His weaksauce attempt at an alibi was more pathetic than anything.

"And why indeed," Gilbert murmured. He turned to Feliciano. "What is it you were going to say? Does West here suffer from this _horrible _condition often?"

Feliciano frowned, kicking his teal high tops into the astroturf. "Ah, I think more than one thing can cause a nosebleed, right?" His attempt to valiantly defend Ludwig was touching, if pathetic. Gilbert tried not to snicker.

"Well, yes, but surely you of all people know that of all the reasons someone could get a nosebleed, only one is particuarly likely given the context?" He held up his pinky and began counting on his fingers. "Dryness, leech infestation, blunt trauma, tumors, nose picking." He trailed off. "The list goes on and on, but I think we all know what happened here, don't we?"

Ludwig rolled his eyes at Gilbert. "For your information," he said, wiping his face with his arm, (an act that Gilbert knew he must have done out of necessity; Ludwig was so anal that getting his arm covered in blood was probably killing him) "there is a perfectly good reason why this happened," he said matter-of-factly.

Gilbert arched his eyebrows high. "Really? Then why not enlighten us, West? Try to convince me that this isn't the sad, pathetic aftermath of you getting all hot and bothered at the mental image of Feli here all naked and exposed. Go on, try."

Ludwig was clearly trying very hard to maintain some kind of composure, but just as it had always been, his face gave him away. "We're leaving now. Goodbye, Gilbert," he said, pulling Feliciano off of the field by his arm. Gilbert could barely hear Feliciano ask if they were 'going to his house again', and he snickered. He didn't hear Ludwig's answer, but he very much doubted that the answer would be 'yes' now.

_Success!_

With Gilcouch's honor properly defended, Gilbert walked out of the stadium at a leisurely pace, looking for Francis. The crowds had somewhat diminshed, but it was highly unlikely that Francis had left already. (He almost always lingered after games to hit on vulnerable freshmen.)

Just as he was about to call Francis, he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He picked it up and glanced at the caller ID. "This is Your Awesomenes speaking, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Oh, hi Gilbert," said Liz's voice at the end. "I'm incredibly bored so I decided to call you. I hope that's alright," she said. Her voice had a deadpan tone to it, but Gilbert smiled (and then tried to convince himself that it had been a smirk).

"Not a problem at all. Hey, Liz, I'm glad you called. I have to thank you!" He could practically hear the confusion in her voice on the other end.

"Uh, you're welcome." There was a pause. "Why?"

After Gilbert enlightened her with his awesome tale, there was silence for a second. "Wow," she said, stretching the word out. "I can't believe I vicariously helped you with one of your nasty little tricks. Remind me to apologize to your brother later."

Gilbert was apalled. "I thought you would be happy to hear that your dirty little pictures finally had a use," he said. He heard her sigh in exasperation on the other end.

"Not particuarly, but oh well. Hey Gil, can I ask you something?"

Gilbert stopped walking. Liz's voice didn't carry any humor in it, though it didn't sound totally serious either. Well, what did he have to lose? "Shoot," he said.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow? Not that I care," she added quickly, "but I'm free for once and I thought we could hang out," she said. She spoke at a quicker rate than was typical, but otherwise she sounded normal. Gilbert was relieved that it hadn't been something worse. (He tried to ignore the little happy feeling he got from her asking him out on what was not technically a date.)

"I'll have to check my calendar, but never fear, the awesome me always makes time for his friends!" he declared. He heard her laugh, although it sounded a bit like she was laughing at him. In a sick way, that was partly what he liked about her.

"Mmkay," she said lazily, "well, you get back to me on that. I have to study for an anatomy test, but let me know later. _Viszlát_."

"Tschüss," said Gilbert, drawing out the word before snapping his phone shut. He overheard Francis's obnoxious laugh, and found him harrassing Arth-fred/Alf-thur. Gilbert tapped Francis on the shoulder.

"Hey," he said, "are you still my ride?" Francis widened his eyes in shock.

"Of course!" he said. "I wouldn't ditch you, silly! Just give me five more minutes with the lovely couple," he said, getting a reaction from both of them.

"We're not a couple," said Alfred. In a stage whisper, he added, "Couples have sex." Arthur rolled his eyes, but his face was red. Was there seriously anyone who was buying it? The way Alfred made fun of Arthur _constantly_, and the way Arthur pretended he didn't like the attention? He shook his head. Everyone could see it, except for them.

"You are insufferable," said Arthur.

"I'll tell you what's insufferable," said Gilbert. (He couldn't help himself.) "What's insufferable is that you two haven't done it yet." He was about to defend his point when he felt his cell phone go off again. "Excuse me, I need to take this." He didn't even look at the ID. "Gilbert speaking," he said into the reciever.

"Hello, Gilbert. It's Rod." Oh. Well. What a lovely surprise. Gilbert walked away from the group.

"Something I can help you with on this lovely night?" 

He heard Rod cough slightly. "It's nothing important," he said. That was a lie. It had to be; Rod would have never picked up his cell phone at all (especially not to call _him_) unless it was important. "It's just, I'm going to be in a competition on Sunday, and I could really use the practice. I was wondering if you wanted to come over and help me with my piano practice."

Now this was awkward. While Liz had called first, he hadn't made definite plans with her, and Gilbert was rarely given oppurtunities such as this one, especially from Rod. 

"I have to check and see if I have anything," he said, his voice coming out more awkward than he would have liked. "But I can call you tomorrow and let you know," he said. Why was this awkward? There was no reason for it to be. Worst of all, he had the same happy little feeling that he had gotten with Liz. If he had to fall for someone in his circle, couldn't it at least be one person and not both of them?

"Please do," said Rod after a minute or so. "I'd really like you to listen to this one piece. I haven't had as much practice with it, and I've never played it in front of an audience." Gilbert felt his heartbeat quicken. Normally, Liz and Rod paired off and he played video games. Why was it that suddenly they both wanted his attention?

This was punishment for the Ludwig thing, wasn't it? Damn it to hell. He was going to get it once Gilbert got home.

"Tschüs," said Gilbert into the phone. Another odd thing was that with Liz he could use the highly informal German 'goodbye' freely and feel no shame, but with Rod he felt the need to be formal even though he had known him for years. When Rod said it back, it seemed peculiar rather than casual.

"Are you ready, Gilbert?" asked Francis. Gilbert turned around.

"You know it," he said.

They walked back to his car, but Gilbert wasn't completely there. He was off in outer space, wondering what on earth he was going to do about his increasingly attractive BFFs both wanting his attention. He sighed. What he really needed was to scream into a pillow, but the best pillows for that were decorative and permanantly on Gilcouch. He wasn't sure if they were safe or not. Probably not, he decided.

It was official; he now pitied Arthur and Alfred. Having to love your best friend totally sucked. It sucked even more when you couldn't pick which one to like more.


End file.
